


Still Breathing

by VictorianBreaker



Series: Still Breathing [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Needs a Hug, Kind of a slow burn, M/M, Past Clint/Phil, TOO MANY COMMAS, and then WHAM relationship, bucky is actually the rational one here, clint runs away like always, mention of suicidal thoughts, mini-bang turned into a big bang, only in mentioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10072613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictorianBreaker/pseuds/VictorianBreaker
Summary: Clint just wanted to get away. He didn't want to hurt any one. But he keeps seeing blue...I dodged a bullet and I walked across a landmine / Oh, I'm still alive / Am I bleeding am I bleeding from the storm? / Just shine a light into the wreckage, so far away, away...'Cause I'm still breathing / 'Cause I'm still breathing on my own / My head's above the rain and roses / Making my way away / My way to you





	1. Migraine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to theassassinhawk on tumblr for the artwork to the story!!!
> 
> http://theassassinhawk.tumblr.com/post/157966858519/still-breathing-bucky-flinched-as-the-bridge

 

**_Am I the only one I know_ **

**_Waging my wars behind my face and above my throat_ **

**_Shadows will scream that I’m alone…_ **

**_\- Migraine by Twenty-One Pilots_ **

**_*** August ***_ **

 

His target was sleeping. There was only a wooden door between him and finishing his mission. A flimsy wooden door in this run-down building, inhabited by the lower class in this city. It was early in the morning, light just beginning to filter in through the window, everything in sight tinged sapphire. His thoughts were a swirling chaos, filled with rage and obedience struggling for footing in his head.

His hands were steady as he reached for the doorknob-

He stumbled forward as a heavy weight cracked against his shoulder, knocking him forward into the door frame. He shook his head rapidly to clear his vision.

“Clint?” A soft voice filtered through as fog in his head began to disperse.

“Simone?” He moaned as he reached up to rub at his shoulder.

She rocked on her toes and pulled the bat back as if to strike again, “Are you going to put down the knife?”

He frowned at her and looked down at his hands. He dropped the knife in surprise, “Simone…”

“Why don’t you back away from the door, Clint?”

For the first time, Clint looked around, noticed where he was. Outside of Simone’s kids’ room. With a weapon.

The full weight of what he had done, what he was about to do, hit him as he stumbled back from the door. “I… You know I would never… I- oh god.” But he had.

Something warred on her face a moment before she set down the bat and rushed to envelope him in a hug, “I know, Clint. I know. I’m not blaming you. But we got kids in this building and you got something or someone in your head still.”

“You’re not supposed to know about that,” he whispered as she grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward his apartment. She paused only momentarily to pound on Grills’ door before continuing on.

She burst into his apartment still dragging him behind her. “Hey, Lucky,” she greeted as the dog came bounding over to meet them. “Come on, now, get to packing,” she pushed him in the direction of his bedroom with a firm pat on his shoulder.

Numbly, he followed her instructions, throwing clothes in his duffle as she flittered around his apartment, starting his coffee maker and digging through toiletries in his bathroom.

“Hey, guys. Why are we up at ass o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh, good! Grills, start packing Clint’s bow and knives. We’re sending him to the tower.”

“Hey,” Clint spoke up, “What?”

Grills did as she bid with no hesitation, finding his knives in their hiding spots straightaway, “Does this have anything to do with, you know?” He waved his fingers at his temple as he double checked that the knives were in their spots in the rolled cloth before pausing next to Clint to put the case in the duffle.

“You’re not supposed to know about that,” Clint muttered.

“Yes,” Simone joined them in the room to drop his toothbrush and some soap in the pack. “We’re sending him back to get his head knocked in again by the scary Russian.”

“You’re definitely not supposed to know about that,” he plopped down on the bed with a sigh.

Simone just waved off his concern and held out a travel mug full of fresh coffee. He reached out to take it and she grasped his wrist, “Now, listen to me closely, Clint Barton. We’re going to take care of Lucky, the apartment building, and everything else. You just worry about getting better. Come back when we only have to worry about your normal disaster mode.”

He nodded softly as Grills shuffled around him, steadily packing more items for him. They were awfully organized about the whole thing. “Guys, have you been planning for me to… relapse?”

“No!” Simone rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. “Honestly, we had this plan in place mostly for the tracksuits. We thought you would’ve pissed them off by now and we’d have to spirit you away in the middle of the night.”

Grills paused before him and knelt down to look him in the face, “Don’t worry. We’re going to take care of everything here. We just want you to get better. Lucky will be ok. We’ll be ok.” He dropped a set of keys into Clint’s hand, “Now get going, Hawkguy.”

 

* * *

 

When Clint walked into the tower, the first thing he noticed was the quiet. It was far too quiet for a place that housed half a dozen superheroes. Usually there was some sort of fiasco going on, whether it was Bruce trying to make a curry as Thor needled him for information or Tony deciding that his workshop needed to be a bit more ‘on fire’, there was never really a quiet moment.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Nobody and nothing answered him. “I guess not,” he sighed.

It took only a moment to throw the few items he had left in the tower into his duffle bag and start to head back down to the lobby. He paused at his door, turning back to look at the coffee table a moment before leaving the room. The wedding photo remained untouched.

He managed to take two steps toward the elevator before a voice stopped him, “Clint?” It was only through years of training that he didn’t jump out of his skin.

“Hey, Nat,” he cringed.

“What are you doing here? Is that a duffle bag?”

He turned to face her, “I’m going away for a few weeks. Maybe a bit longer. I just need to clear my head.”

She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. He was pretty sure she was staring into his soul. “Why? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, “I woke up… blue again. I don’t want to hurt anyone. I have to go. I’ll come back when I’m clear.”

“Clint,” she rolled her eyes, “You won’t hurt anyone. I’ve told you before. We’re the Avengers. Do you really think that you can hurt any of us? We wouldn’t let you. We just want to help you. I don’t even know why you went back to that run down hovel in Bed-Stuy instead of coming back here in the first place.”

And didn’t that just hurt. She thought highly enough of him to be his partner in the field, but she didn’t think he could hurt her. He could. He would. He’d tried it before. But, he was just a human. He had no modifications, no super-soldier serum. Why could no one seem to remember he was a trained assassin who murdered several dozen people before being joining SHIELD? “Nat,” he croaked out, “I just need some time alone.”

“You know, you can’t run from your problems forever. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face them,” she spat out.

“That’s not what this is-“

“You know we can help you. We want to. But you keep pulling away from us. Do you not think that we’re hurting, too?”

“You can’t help this-“

“God, you’re so wrapped up in hating yourself that any time anybody starts to care about you or, god forbid, you start to care about them, you push them away!” She had drawn closer, pointing her finger at his chest accusingly.

“Nat!” He frowned at her, unsure.

“Just. Just go, Clint. You know that’s not what he would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted you to get help. But you’re just so-” She cut herself off, shaking her head angrily as she turned away from him. “Goodbye, Clint.”

He had parked his Charger on the street with his go bag in the trunk. Money, supplies, and weapons filled the bag and it would allow him to travel in relative comfort. He tossed the duffle bag in the back seat and threw himself into the driver’s seat.

Clint slammed the car door shut with a huff and pounded his fists on the steering wheel before huffing again. He was deflating already from the brief burst of anger that the encounter with Natasha had given him.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself, you know.”

Clint had a knife in his hand and at the throat of the man in the passenger seat in an instant.

“Whoa, pal,” his passenger threw his hands in the air and the glint of metal caused the archer to pause and study the man next to him.

Scraggly hair, ruggedly handsome, one metal arm…

Clint sighed and secreted the knife back to its hiding spot, “Barnes.”

The Winter Soldier gave him a small start, “You put the knife away _after_ you recognize me?”

Barton just rolled his eyes and started the car. “I’ve met you a few times, before I joined SHIELD. If you didn’t hurt me then…”

“I’m a dangerous man, you know.”

“It’s really not you I’m worried about. Get out, Barnes.”

“What? No. I can’t stay here.”

“Actually, you probably should. You know Steve’s been looking for you.”

“Yeah, why do you think I’m here? I’m doing recon.” Barnes abruptly sobered, “Trying to figure out if I should come in from the cold.”

Clint just stared at him a moment, “Alright. You can come with me. But no talking. If you talk, I’m going to make you get out and walk.” Clint refused to look at him.

Bucky smirked at him. “I don’t ever talk. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Mmhmm.” Clint threw the car into first and merged into Manhattan traffic. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel unsteadily.

“So,” Bucky murmured after a few minutes of silence, “Where are we going?”

“That is definitely not shutting up.”

“Sorry.”

 

* * *

 

“So, you said you knew me. Before.”

Clint glanced at him out of the side of his eye before taking a deep breath as if debating with himself. “We’d met a few times. We had the same targets before. Friendly competition, I suppose. That was before-“ Clint cut off with a small noise.

“Before SHIELD,” Bucky nodded, deciding to ignore the pause. “And we were friends?”

Clint chuckled darkly, “I wouldn’t exactly call us friends.”

“But,” Bucky paused and drummed his fingers on the arm rest, “You never told anyone about me,” he concluded firmly.

“At the time, I was solo. No one to tell really. It’s not important,” he voice was gruff as he shifted in the seat.

The solider turned to look at the side of the archer’s face in the early dawn light. It was clear there was more Clint wasn’t telling him. “I’m hungry. Any chance of stopping for food?”

“We’ve been on the road for like three hours,” Clint grumbled.

Bucky shrugged, “I need a lot of calories and, guessing by your look, you haven’t eaten in a while, either.”

They stopped at a diner just outside of Allentown and slid into a booth in the back. Clint studiously ignored Bucky, staring at the menu as if it held the secrets of the world.

A world-weary waitress, the same as in every small town diner, sat coffee down in front of both of them without a word and walked away. Bucky frowned at her back, picked up his coffee and sniffed it before shrugging and taking a sip. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. A safe house.”

“Does Natalia know where it is?”

“No one knows where it is,” Clint glanced up at the Winter Soldier. At Bucky’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes, “No. Nat doesn’t know that I have a safe house. I bought it after-.” He stuttered a moment, exhaled slowly, and laid his menu down. “You know, she calls you a ghost.”

“She does, huh? Well, I’m not a ghost.” Bucky gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, obviously. Because ghosts. Don’t. Talk.” He snatched the menu back up with a vengeance and Bucky just sighed.

 

* * *

 

“I grew up in Iowa, you know.” Clint’s voice startled him out of the daze he had fallen into, staring out of the window at all of the farms passing by. “Long ago, when I was younger and dumber.”

“So what happened?”

“Well,” Clint chuckled lightly, staring intently out of the windscreen, "You do enough bad things, eventually someone takes notice.”

After a moment of silence, Barnes seemed to have decided something. “I don’t remember meeting you before.” Clint just frowned at him. “I’ve been observing all of Steve’s friends and you’re the only one I can’t get a handle on. You’re the only one I was drawn to. Why do you think I came along?”

“I was beginning to think it was purely to drive me insane.”

Bucky tilted his head back against the seat, “I don’t remember, but... Are you sure we weren’t friends?”

“You keep asking that,” Clint frowned at him.

“I feel a connection, I guess. I’m sorry. I don’t-”

“Yeah, don’t remember. I know. It’s no big deal. But, maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s why you felt ok to come with me.” Clint inclined his head back and forth a moment, as if debating, “Probably should’ve waited for Steve, though. You know how hard he’s been trying to find you.”

“I’m not ready to see him,” Bucky turned back to the farms outside. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.

 

* * *

 

They arrived at a run-down farm house approximately 20 hours after they left Manhattan. Clint exited the car immediately after putting it in park, stretching loudly in the late summer sunlight. Bucky stayed for a moment longer, staring at the house through the windshield.

He got out slowly, confusion evident on his face, “Barton. Where are we?”

“Iowa.” Bucky shot him a glare and Clint rolled his eyes, “I may have grown up here. Not for very long before my parents… It’s safe. I promise. No one even knows I own the place. I had great plans to fix it up, but I haven’t been back since. Since the Battle of Manhattan. It’s going to need some work. Well, a lot of work. I figured it was as good a place as any for me to clear my head. If I remember right, the bedrooms are in good shape, still. We’ll have to make a run into town for supplies.”

“This is your safe house?” He asked as he leaned against the car door.

“What’s wrong with my house, Barnes?”

“It’s a dump.”

“It’s a work in progress.” Bucky raised an eyebrow, “A very early work in progress. Look, you’re the one who wanted to come. I didn’t force you into the car. My plan was to come here alone, fix the place up a little. Have some time with my thoughts. Alone.”

“Barton,” Bucky paused a moment, struggling for the words.

Clint stared at him before turning away, “Come on. I’ll give you the nickel tour.”

Bucky nodded and stayed quiet, choosing instead to follow the archer into the building.

As they entered, Bucky found that Clint was right about the state of the house. It needed work – mostly cosmetic – and it wasn’t about to fall down around their heads.

“Bedrooms are upstairs, kitchen, living room, den, those are all down here. You can take the left side room, I’ll take the right. I think it only needs some sheets. I own the property back to the stream. About twenty acres all together. I started to set up a range behind the barn, but never finished it.” He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck with a shy smile, “Got called out to New Mexico and never came back.”

Bucky nodded and looked around. The wallpaper was peeling, the wood flooring in the dining room was in need of re-staining, and the kitchen appliances looked like the ones his mother used when he was growing up.

“Jesus, Barton.”

“Look, I know it needs work. But maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.” He glanced over at the solider and slyly grinned, “Maybe it’s what we both need.”

“Did you just agree for me to come along for heavy lifting?”

“Would be convenient.” He nodded his head toward the back door, “I think there’s something else you’ll like better than renovating the house. Come on.”

In the barn Barton pulled a sheet with a flourish and a thousand watt smile. A Harley Davidson WLA “liberator” motorcycle. In pieces, parts rusted or broken. “Holy shit!” Bucky circled the bike, gently touching the seat, “How the hell did you get one of these!?”

For a second Clint’s smile dimmed a moment, “I knew a collector of all things Steve Rogers once upon a time. It happened to come into my possession. Do you like it?”

“Like it? It’s fantastic. This I remember!”

Clint laughed a little and held the sheet out to him, “Have at it. I have tools around here somewhere. Someone should enjoy it.”

Bucky leapt to his feel and pulled the archer into a hug, surprising both of them. “I,” the soldier started. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_*** September ***_ **

The first rain came two weeks after their arrival and, with it, the first glaringly necessary project. The leaky roof wouldn’t last through the heavy winter snows. An argument filled trip to the local home improvement store ended up with both of them on the roof. After about three hours of painstakingly laying roofing – and in some tragic cases, pulling the work back up and reapplying – Clint ducked back in the house for a few minutes and returned through the second story window with lunch. They both sat on the roof amongst the scattered debris of their ill attempts and ate quietly. Chips, sandwiches, and lemonade all sat well together. The quiet wasn’t oppressive, but instead comfortable.

“ ‘s a nice view,” Bucky mumbled around his sandwich.

Clint grunted in agreement, “I used to come out here when my old man would come home drunk. It was mostly removed from the yelling. And the hitting.”

Bucky frowned and pretended to examine his food, “Jesus, Barton. Why’d you want to come back here?”

The archer was quiet for a long moment, “I won’t be defined by those people. The ones who made me. I guess I just wanted to prove that this place – that _I_ – could be more, I guess.” He laughed a little, “It sounds a bit stupid now that I say it out loud.”

Bucky empathetically shook his head, “I don’t think it’s stupid. Wanting to write over the bad memories with good ones?” He shrugged, “I’ll help you with that. If you want.”

Clint studied his face, as if judging him, weighing him. “Yeah. Ok. It would be nice to have a friend, I suppose,” he finally said with a smirk, lightly nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his own.

Barnes smiled back, but the word didn’t quite sit well with him. ‘Friend’ didn’t seem right, he just couldn’t figure out why.

 

* * *

 

 

**_*** October ***_ **

They fell into something different than the first two weeks after the day spent on the roof. Clint seemed more willing to share parts of his past, as if he had decided that the assassin wouldn’t judge him. Bucky sympathized with his own stories, the few unbroken memories he had from before the war. Bits and pieces were coming back from his time as the Winter Soldier, but they were few and far between.

Clint’s eyes had only turned blue twice since they had arrived in Iowa. Both times, Bucky had been able to shake Clint out of it almost immediately, deftly pulling the archer out of the stupor he had fallen into with very little trouble, but he would remain quiet and withdrawn the rest of the day.

Clint graciously ignored Bucky’s dark days when the memories resurfaced. When he would hole himself in the barn and work on the Harley, often ripping out previous repairs in his anger, only to apologetically and lovingly redo the restoration when he calmed down.  Clint always had an open, cold beer on hand when he returned to the house, no matter how deep he was in the renovations of his own. Clint offered a steady, calm head when he would finally tell him about whatever recollection had appeared that day.

On the other hand, Bucky pretended Clint’s nightmares didn’t keep him awake at night. In the morning, he would wake early to make coffee and act like hadn’t heard the archer crying out most of the night. He would’ve returned the favor of being a comforting shoulder, but Clint never spoke a word of the terrors he saw in his dreams.

Two months after arriving at the farm, he finally couldn’t take it anymore. It was two thirty in the morning and Clint was crying out again.

Bucky couldn’t say if it was lack of sleep or empathy or something different entirely that finally made him leave his warm bed and stumble into Clint’s room. The house was chilly in the fall night and Bucky made a mental note to check the heater before the temperatures dropped. October was almost over and it was looking to be a very cold year.

“Barton,” he hissed as he crept closer to the bed and the sleeping figure in it. “Barton,” he spoke a little louder, firmer.

The archer moaned and tossed again in his sleep, then whispered a name. One Bucky had heard mentioned before. One that had always made Clint clam up and stop whatever story he had started to tell. He never pushed it. Bucky had a few of his own instances like that. It helped when he told his stories to Clint, to know that he was understood in that regard.

But with this new information – that Clint’s dreams were being haunted by this man – maybe he should push.

“Barton!” He snapped, just out of arm’s reach. He knew how nightmares were. How disorienting they could be. And he knew the agent could, and probably would, pull a knife out from somewhere if he were startled.

Just like that, Clint was awake. He had a knife in his hand in an instant, but he was aware, eyes darting around, taking stock. When his sight landed on Bucky, his face crumpled and he curled in on himself. His shoulders shook with sobs and Barnes practically dove to envelope the man in his arms.

“It’s ok, shhh,” he gently rubbed circles on the man’s back, his metal arm reaching around to pry the knife from the archer’s hand.

“I killed him,” Clint gasped into his shoulder, “I killed him!”

“Who? Who did you kill, Clint?”

“Phil,” he managed to force out.

This caused the Winter Soldier to pause. Phil. The elusive Phil. He was filled with so many questions, but he forced himself to push them down, to focus only on the man in front of him. “Shh, it’s ok. It’s only a nightmare.”

He thought he heard Clint mumble, “No it’s not,” but he didn’t say anything more.

They stayed in that position for a while more before Clint finally sat back and wiped his face, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was awake already,” he lied as he began to stand up.

Clint fumbled for his hand, “Will you stay? Please. I. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Bucky nodded and silently crawled into the bed as Clint shifted to make room for him. The assassin gently pulled the archer into his arms and then, surprising himself, kissed the other man’s forehead lightly.

“Thank you,” the agent murmured as they both settled down, close and intertwined with each other.

It was a pose that pulled at Bucky’s memories until he fell asleep to Clint’s even breathing.

They didn’t need two rooms after that. Clint slept better with Bucky and Bucky relished the feeling of something familiar with having Clint in his arms.


	2. Soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should’ve never said the word “love”  
> Threw a toaster in the bathtub  
> I’m sick of all the games I have to play…  
> \- Soap by Melanie Martinez

 

**_Should’ve never said the word “love”_ **

**_Threw a toaster in the bathtub_ **

**_I’m sick of all the games I have to play…_ **

**_\- Soap by Melanie Martinez_ **

 

**_*** November ***_ **

****

In the dim morning light of mid-November that invaded their warm room, Clint moaned and rolled over to bury his head in Bucky’s shoulder, “Too early.”

Bucky chuckled as he struggled to extract himself from Clint’s hold, leaning forward to gently kiss his cheek, “yes, dear. You can go back to sleep. I’m going to make some coffee.”

“Mmm, coffee,” the archer rolled into the warm spot the assassin had left.

Bucky let his amusement carry him down into the cold kitchen to start the coffee maker and shuffle through the cabinets to see if they had anything to make for breakfast or if they were going to have to make a grocery run down to the corner store. He absently scratched at his chest as the coffee began to drip. They could stop at the little café first for food. Some greasy hash browns and eggs sounded pretty good. And Thanksgiving was around the corner. He should put some turkey or something on the grocery list. Maybe a traditional dinner would be nice. Maybe with the team. He couldn’t keep pretending that Clint wasn’t checking his phone for messages from Natasha more often lately. There never were any. There was a chance a family dinner could help.

But if Natasha came, Steve would want to come. He wasn’t ready for that. Dinner for two, then.

“Wow,” he heard whispered from behind him, “Is it the 15th already?”

“Yeah,” Bucky turned to face the archer, “Thanksgiving is- Are you ok, Clint?”

“Ye… Yeah.” The man’s complexion betrayed him. Clint choked back tears, “It’s our anniversary. Or, I guess, was our anniversary. Phil and-.”

Bucky swiftly moved forward to wrap his arms around him, “I’m so sorry, Clint. I didn’t realize.”

“Neither did I. With everything else,” Clint waved a hand breezily.

Bucky sighed internally, “Are you ever going to tell me about him?”

Clint frowned and pulled away to look at his face, “Why?”

“I want to know. What’s important to you matters to me.”

Clint withdrew completely from the other man’s embrace and Bucky let his arms fall to his sides, “It’s not-.”

“It _is_ , Clint. Anyone with half a brain can see that Phil’s memory is getting to you. Maybe sharing the burden will help you. You never talk about him. You hardly talk about anything.”

“And why should I talk about him to you? You didn’t know him.”

“I don’t have to know him to want to know about your life. I want to know more. I want to help you. To share in your pain. Maybe help shoulder some of the load.”

“Why does it matter!?”

“Because I love you, you moron!”

Clint startled at that, straightened in surprise. “What?”

Bucky frowned, “What?”

“You just said you love me. Do you even realize?” Clint ran his hands through his hand roughly.

Bucky crossed his arms, “Well, I’m not taking it back.”

“But,” Clint stumbled over the word, turning away from the assassin, “you can’t mean that. You don’t… God, Buck, do you even understand what you’re-“

“I want in.”

This caused the archer to turn back toward him in shock. “…You want in.”

Bucky nodded at him with a sneer that clearly said he thought Clint was a massive idiot. “I want in to your life. I want in on all of it. All the good, all the bad, everything. Today was your anniversary, well I want to be there for you. I want to let you lie in bed all day, reminiscing about the wonderful times you had, and all the black ops missions that went belly up, and,” he paused, realizing he was rambling, “I love you. I want to have everything with you. I want to do everything with you. And if that means sharing a part of you with his memory, I will do it. And gladly. Because he was special enough to have won a piece of your heart. And that means that I want to know who he was. Nothing in your life, nothing in your past, is ever going to be too small, or too big, or too horrible to share with me. I will always listen with an open heart and mind. Because I love you!”

Clint had started crying at some point during the speech, tears running down his cheeks, staring at Bucky as if he could see through him and into his soul. But he said nothing.

Bucky exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, “Look I’m. I’m going back upstairs. You decide what you want to do.”

He left him standing dumbfounded in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

He had taken as much time as he could in the shower, but he decided he had to face the music sooner or later. He was back in his own room, sorting through clothes when he was interrupted. The knock on the door wasn’t entirely unexpected after having poured out his heart earlier, and to be honest, it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. Better to know where he stood with the archer.

He opened the door and leaned against the frame. He said nothing, preferring to let the other man break what had become the first uneasy silence since they started their little adventure.

“I,” Clint croaked out, then cleared his throat and tried again, “I feel a bit like I’m betraying him. And at the same time, I feel like you’re a little crazy. For loving a complete human disaster like me.” He gave Bucky a small, watery smile, “I also feel… I feel the same. I love you, too. Even if you’re like, a hundred years old.”

“I’m thirty.”

“Plus seventy,” the words were mumbled.

Bucky sighed and held out his arms, “Come here.” He wrapped the archer in a bear hug before pulling back and kissing him gently, “You really are tragic.”

 

* * *

 

 

**_*** December ***_ **

Christmas was a quieter affair versus the breakdown before Thanksgiving. Clint had been telling him more about Phil. About their meeting, about their wedding, about the end of it all. He was still hesitant at times, but Bucky considered it great progress.

The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas had seen even more changes at the farm as the pair grew closer. Gentle declarations of love at all hours filled the silences, small kisses stolen at odd times, both growing bolder. The dining room had gotten new flooring and paint, and a handmade wooden table to complete it.

The kitchen was still a bit of a work in progress, but overall the house was beginning to come together.

The bike in the barn was completed. She purred like a kitten whenever Barnes would take her out into town for a ride.

They had decorated the farmhouse for the holiday, stringing lights around the porch, putting a tree in the corner, and hanging mistletoe around in unexpected places. Clint hadn’t had an episode in six weeks, and they were both growing more optimistic.

They ate a peaceful Christmas meal, but Bucky noticed Clint checking his phone. Each time, he laid it back face down, trying to mask the disappointment that was so evident in his body language.

“Why don’t you just call her? I’m sure she’s forgiven you by now.”

Clint shook his head, “I don’t think so. What about you? Is this the holiday you’re finally going to talk to Steve?”

Bucky shook his head in turn, “I’m not ready, yet. Besides, I’m kind of enjoying it being just the two of us.”

Clint nodded in agreement, “We wait then.” He leaned over to kiss the other man, “Merry Christmas, Bucky. I’m happy you’re here with me.” He stood up and collected the other man’s plate, “Now, come on! Presents!”

Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. This Christmas was the first time he ever remembered being truly happy. He had a man who loved him, who was getting better by the day. He was feeling at ease with himself and who he was, what he had done as a weapon of Hydra. They had a beautiful home in a peaceful location and things in his life were better than they had been in a long time.

“Bucky! Come on!” Clint whined from the den and Bucky laughed joyously, grabbing a piece of mistletoe from the doorway on his way in.

Clint smiled brightly when he saw the sprig, and raised an eyebrow coyly.

Bucky wanted it to stay this way forever.


	3. Still Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I dodged a bullet and I walked across a landmine.  
> Oh, I'm still alive  
> Am I bleeding am I bleeding from the storm?  
> Just shine a light into the wreckage, so far away, away  
> 'Cause I'm still breathing  
> 'Cause I'm still breathing on my own  
> My head's above the rain and roses  
> Making my way away  
> 'Cause I'm still breathing  
> 'Cause I'm still breathing on my own  
> My head's above the rain and roses  
> Making my way away  
> My way to you

**_I dodged a bullet and I walked across a landmine.  
Oh, I'm still alive_ **

**_Am I bleeding am I bleeding from the storm?  
Just shine a light into the wreckage, so far away, away_**

**_'Cause I'm still breathing_ **   
**_'Cause I'm still breathing on my own_ **   
**_My head's above the rain and roses_ **   
**_Making my way away_ **   
**_'Cause I'm still breathing_ **   
**_'Cause I'm still breathing on my own_ **   
**_My head's above the rain and roses_ **   
**_Making my way away_ **   
**_My way to you_ **

**_\- Still Breathing by Green Day_ **

 

**_***January***_ **

Bucky’s world came crashing down on a Tuesday. He remembered it distinctly. It was a Tuesday when he fell off the train, too.

Clint was at the kitchen sink washing the dishes from breakfast. Bucky was leaning on the counter next to him, sipping his coffee. Both were idly chatting.

“I think it’s supposed to snow pretty badly today,” Clint said off-handedly, “no going out on Betty, I guess…” he trailed off, staring out of the window above the sink.

“Yeah, but we need supplies. We won’t make it through a blizzard if it snows us in. I’ll see about putting the snow chains on the Charger. We can make a quick run of it,” he leaned forward to put his mug in the dishwater, placing his metal hand gently on Clint’s forearm and kissing him on the cheek.

That’s when he realized it. Clint’s eyes were glowing blue, distantly staring as the first flurries began to fall outside, his hands mechanically continuing their washing motion with the dish in his hand.

“Clint?” Bucky asked lowly, cautiously beginning to remove his hand from Clint’s arm.

But the archer moved like lightning, grasping the metal wrist with his left hand and pulling down sharply, spinning in place and striking with his right hand. The knife pierced him at the exact point his skin met metal.

He cried out in pain and dropped to his knees on the ground, his arm practically useless, and Clint took the opportunity to attack again, viciously pulling out the knife before kicking out at the assassin’s chest, sending him sprawling into the table legs. The table squealed as it was forced backwards under his weight, various projects and dishes they had on the top, crashing around him

“Clint,” he moaned, reaching around to paw at his wounded shoulder, as the other man crept ominously toward him, “Clint, wake up!”

The agent was looming over him now, a sneer marring his handsome features as he pulled back to hit him again.

Just as suddenly as he began he stopped.

He blinked and the unnatural blue dissipated. “Oh god,” he whispered as he took in the sight of the trashed kitchen and of Bucky slumped halfway under the table, bleeding freely.

“Oh, god!” He looked at his hands, at the blood that had stained them and he began to shake. “I…I’m so sorry! I don’t know.” His eyes darted up to meet Bucky’s and the soldier could see the desperation in them, “I have to go.”

Clint leapt to his feet and jogged to the door, barely pausing to grab the nearest jacket before he was outside. Bucky watched his purple converses the whole way.

When he heard Betty rev up and speed off, he pulled himself over to reach for the phone that had been thrown to the ground from the table, ignoring the small slices from the broken and jagged pieces around him.

He scrolled through the contacts list and called the only person he could trust.

“Clint! Long time, buddy! Are you thinking of coming back? Natasha said you needed a little time, and, listen, I understand, but it’s been –.”

“Steve,” Bucky grunted over the super soldier’s rambling, trying to find a way to put pressure on his wound while holding the cell phone.

“Bucky!? W-Where are- Why are you calling from Clint’s phone?”

“Steve, Clint is in trouble. You need to get your ass here now. Bring back up.”

“Where the hell are you guys?”

“Iowa.”

“Iowa, wh-? Not important text me the coordinates, I’ll get a jet ready and we’ll be wheels up in fifteen. Should be there in no more than 45 minutes.”

“Steve,” Bucky hesitated a moment, “He’s blue.”

The silence was so complete he thought for a moment the line was dead. “Shit. I’ll get Stark and Banner on it. We’ll be there soon, Bucky. Will you-”

“I’ll be here. I’ll see you soon.”

 

* * *

 

The jet landed in the field next to the barn forty minutes later and three figures tumbled out. Bucky ran to meet them, “Where are the others?”

Steve nodded to him in greeting, eyes raking him over as if checking him for damage, lingering on the bloody, and already healing, shoulder, “They stayed back to get the med-bay ready. We figured he’d probably need it.”

Bucky nodded, “Probably smart. Come on, he took my bike, but I’m pretty sure I know where he went.”

 

* * *

 

And there he was. Just where Bucky knew he would be: staring down into the frozen river from his perch on the side of the bridge into town. Bucky found his breath had caught in his throat as he stared at Clint. The archer was a frightening portrait of fragile serenity. His hair was dull, his skin had a pallor to it that was exacerbated by the snow falling around him, and his face was lax. Bucky recognized the look – he’d seen it before in the mirror. It was guilt and pain and horror at yourself, thinking there’s no escape from your own obtrusive thoughts. He wanted to call out to the archer, but he was afraid. He was so afraid that if he broke the quiet, Clint would shatter, his pieces tumbling down into the icy water.

As it was, the good people of the town had probably not noticed the archer. Their cars had been abandoned in haste on the bridge – whether from the blizzard or Clint Bucky couldn’t say.

He turned back to the three behind him, at a loss for what to do. His thoughts must have been written across every feature because he didn’t have to say anything before Sam was stepping up beside him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got this.”

As Sam calmly went about his task, Bucky felt a warm hand enter his right one. “Natalia-.” Sam had made it to the archer, was speaking softly to him.

“It’s going to be alright. We won’t let it not be.” He chanced a glance away from Clint to her face. Her usual mask was in place, but there was an undercurrent of guilt.

“I said: LEAVE ME ALONE,” Clint roared as he leapt to his feet, impeccably balanced on the railing he had previously been sitting on. The previously drifting snow froze in midair, as if someone had hit a great cosmic pause button.

The hand in his grip tightened as they watched Sam backpedal, hands up as he attempted to placate the blond, but Bucky only had Clint in his sights.

His whole body was glowing blue.

 

* * *

 

There was nothing left of him. He was a swirling void. There was no driving need to serve, to spill is secrets, to please. There was a growing rage that was not his own filling the void, filling his head, filling his hands. He could defeat everybody. He could end everything. He could feel the power in his fingertips and he wanted to use it.

The man in front of him was backing away, his hands up in an attempt to pacify him.

That wouldn’t do. With a flick of his fingers, he tossed the red-goggled man.

 

* * *

 

“Well, he couldn’t do that before,” Natasha murmured as Steve rushed by to help Sam.

“Clint. Clint, come down from there. Please,” Bucky held out a hand, starting to move slowly toward him.

Natasha grabbed his arm, hissing at him, “Bucky, he just threw someone! With his brain!”

He shook her off, “We just want to help you, Clint.”

“Yeah. Help you by hitting you really hard in the head,” Natasha murmured beside him.

Bucky wanted to frown at her, but instead took another step toward Clint. “Come on. Please let us help you.”

Clint was laser focused on him. His eyes were glowing, reflecting eerily on the snow frozen in place around him, his hands were clinched, swirling blue lighting ringing his fists. His face was contorted in fury.

Parked cars on the bridge began to levitate as Bucky and Natasha made their way slowly toward the archer. The blue swirls moved up his arms, swallowing Clint whole, a glowing tornado of power.

Natasha was almost glued to his right elbow, fists clinched, braced for fighting. Bucky was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

“Clint, please-” the solider was interrupted by a grunt to his left. Steve was pinned beneath what appeared to be a Volvo. He had it off in a moment, but another took its place in an instant. Natasha was pulled away from Bucky’s elbow and into Sam, who was just getting up from having been previously smashed into a bridge beam. They both went down in a heap. The wind began to pick up, the snow whirling wickedly around them all. Bucky ducked his head into the wind taking another step toward Clint.

Bucky flinched as the bridge cables began to snap, “Clint, please!” He was almost to him, fighting against the gale as another cable snapped away.

Clint’s unnervingly blue eyes were practically staring into his soul as he secured his metal hand to the railing. The soldier offered his flesh hand, “Clint, take my hand!”

Slowly, shaking, Clint reached back.

 

* * *

 

The moment their hands touched it was if he had been electrocuted. Memories came flooding back to him. Steve, the war, the Howling Commandos. Clint. Stolen kisses on rooftops, sweet promises whispered in the dark. They had been together on missions, before Clint joined SHIELD, both going after the same targets from different sides. They had been lovers. Bucky had tried desperately to retain the memories of them through countless wipes, but he had never been entirely successful.

“I remember,” he whispered against the wind. He blinked and he was back, clinging to Clint’s hand for dear life, lightening clashing around the two of them. “Clint! I remember! I remember you!”

The wind faltered at his words and the archer’s face turned from furious to confused.

“I remember it all, Clint. I promised you I would.”

Tears began to trickle down Clint’s face as the squall began to quiet. The cars lowered to the pavement slowly and the snow gently wafted around them both.

Bucky pulled softly on Clint’s hand, tugging him down from the railing and onto the sidewalk. The archer’s eyes were blue – the right blue. Clear and focused on him. “You…” he swallowed hard, “you remember me? From before?”

“Yes,” the soldier was empathetic as he took both of Clint’s hands in his own, “all of it.”

Clint’s breath hitched as his muscles contracted painfully before he collapsed into Bucky’s arms. Bucky looked up in confusion only to see Natasha standing behind Clint, her widow’s bites still glowing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “He may still be dangerous. We need to get him to the quintjet and then to the tower.”

Bucky frowned and sighed, knowing she was right, but still not happy with her. He picked the archer up in to a fireman’s carry, trusting the others to follow.

 

* * *

 

“It’s a piece of the mind stone,” Bruce adjusted his glasses as he pointed out a piece of the x-ray on the screen in front of him. “I’m not sure how, but it appears that when Loki,” he stumbled over his words, “when he took Clint, he left a piece of the spear in his chest. It’s not big. But it’s enough to do damage.”

“Can you remove it?”

Bruce shrugged shyly, “I’m not that kind of doctor. We can get Dr. Cho to do it. But I’m not sure what kind of lasting effects the stone could have on him. If any, of course. We’re essentially flying blind, here.”

Bucky nodded solemnly, staring at the sedated archer in the next room through the observation window. “Anything I can do?”

“You can sit with him. Read to him, maybe. I would suggest that we keep him under until we can perform the surgery.” The doctor removed his glasses to give them a quick cleaning on his shirt, “I heard about what he did in Iowa. I’m afraid that if he were to have a meltdown here before we could remove the shard, even the Hulk couldn’t stop him.”

“I could do it again,” Bucky growled, eyes glued to the form in the bed.

“I’m not saying you couldn’t. I’m saying you shouldn’t have to put yourself in that kind of danger when we can just let him sleep.”

Bucky huffed, but nodded. Bruce stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, “It’s hard to see those we care about in a situation like this. But Helen is already on her way. She should be here in the next few hours.”

Tony chose that moment to enter the med-bay, “Hey, Robocop. Brucie.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and took a step away from Bucky to turn back to the x-ray and his medical notes.

“You ok, Tin Man?”

Bucky said nothing, but Banner spoke up, “He’s just worried about Clint. I told him Dr. Cho was on the way.”

“Yeah, just give us about 24 hours and you can take Legolas out on some weird, creepy assassin date. Overthrow an enemy state and get a milkshake with two straws.”

Bruce gave a small smile, “Maybe give it a whole week before you go overthrowing governments. He’s going to be very worn out for a little while. As far as we can figure, the mind stone had been sapping his energy slowly until he finally had a cataclysmic eruption.”

Tony raised an eyebrow and inclined his head in agreement, “That would be enough to make even Juan Valdez tired.”

There was a silent moment, the only sounds in the med-bay the steady beeping of Clint’s monitors. “I’m ok with sedating him until Dr. Cho gets here. But… give me just a few minutes?”

Both Bruce and Tony nodded. Banner waved a hand at the door, “He’s due to wake up any moment. I’ll give you five minutes and then come in and put him under again.”

Bucky entered the room slowly, almost with reverence. The archer was just stirring as he pulled a hard plastic chair up to the bed.

The solider held his hand lightly as Clint began to open his eyes. Blue eyes, the same blue they had been when they first met.

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” Bucky found himself whispering, surprising even himself.

Clint’s face crumpled, “I’m sorry I left you there.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head quickly, then said more forcefully, “No. You did nothing wrong. If you hadn’t left, you would’ve been caught, too. And I wouldn’t have you now. And I wouldn’t have the farm, and Lucky.” He stroked his thumb over the archer’s knuckles, “That is, if you’ll have me, still.”

Clint gave a watery smile, “You haven’t even met Lucky, yet.”

Bucky chuckled, “Well, he can’t be all bad. He likes pizza, after all.”


	4. Brand New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like when I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing  
> Like I can fly, and don't even think of touching the ground  
> Like a heartbeat skip, like an open page  
> Like a one way trip on an aeroplane  
> It's the way that I feel when I'm with you, brand new
> 
> \- Brand New by Ben Rector

****

****_Like when I close my eyes and don't even care if anyone sees me dancing_  
Like I can fly, and don't even think of touching the ground  
Like a heartbeat skip, like an open page  
Like a one way trip on an aeroplane  
It's the way that I feel when I'm with you, brand new

**_\- Brand New by Ben Rector_ **

 

**_*** April ***_ **

“I want you to keep it there,” Bucky offered the frame to Clint who took it with hesitant hands and softly ran his fingertips over the figures in the photo.

“Are you sure? I… I don’t want…”

Bucky smiled, “He was important to you. So he’s important to me. Put it on the mantle.”

With a bright grin, Clint reached up and put the wedding photo up on the fireplace mantle of their apartment in Bed Stuy, beside the various photos they had taken over the past few months. Clint and Bucky at Coney Island, one of the two of them with Lucky in Central Park, Steve and Bucky posing dramatically in the tower gym, Simone and the boys during a roof top bar-be-que, and even more scattered around.

Bucky liked to say that he had forgotten enough over the years, and so he wanted to put memories everywhere in their house.

Bucky came up behind him and put his arms around the archer’s chest, kissing the crown of his head lightly. “It’s perfect. How do you feel?”

Clint sighed happily, reaching up and grasping the soldier’s hands, “Brand new.”


End file.
